The Werewolf King: Chapter 6 – The Curse Unveiled & Thalion’s Lost Love
A few days had passed since the morning after the full moon. Despite the awkwardness of waking up practically in each other’s arms—Clara absentmindedly running her fingers through Thalion’s hair while he lay in a slight state of undress—the two had needed some time apart.
Thalion had asked Clara to leave the morning after the full moon, his words sharp and clipped. Yet, despite the request, Clara remained. Whether it was her stubborn nature or the persistent pull she felt toward his pain—the same pain that had drawn her to the castle in the first place—she couldn’t be sure.
They fell into an unspoken rhythm during those days apart. Clara ensured she was in and out of the kitchen early every morning, preparing a plate and leaving it warming in the oven for Thalion, with a pot of hot tea waiting nearby. Once he realized her routine, Thalion deliberately stayed in his quarters until he was certain she was finished, avoiding any chance of a shared breakfast or lingering interaction.
The castle’s vastness made it easy for them to avoid each other. Clara busied herself exploring the quiet halls, marveling at its beauty and the strange sense of history that seemed to cling to its stones. Yet, no matter how she distracted herself, thoughts of Thalion lingered. She couldn’t stop picturing his haunted expression or replaying the soft, vulnerable moments they had shared.
Thalion, too, found no peace in their avoidance. He felt her presence even when she wasn’t there, her scent lingering in the hallways or her voice echoing in his memory. Though he told himself it was safer this way, a small part of him missed the sound of her footsteps and the stubborn spark in her eyes when she challenged him.
Finally, on the fourth evening, Thalion could no longer endure the distance. He stared out the window of his study for seemingly hours, thinking about what he wanted to say. Finally, he steeled himself with a deep breath then left to seek her out. He found her in the room he’d given to her, head bent over a book. She looked up when she heard him approach, her expression shifting from surprise to a quiet determination he had come to admire.
“We can’t keep avoiding each other,” he said, his voice low but firm.
Clara marked her place in the book and set it aside. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” she replied evenly. “You were avoiding me.”
A flicker of guilt crossed his face, and he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Perhaps. But no more.”
Her curiosity was piqued by the solemn note in his voice. “What’s changed?”
“You told me your story,” he said, his tone softening. “You deserve to know mine. All of it. Come with me.”
She stood without hesitation, though her heart pounded as she followed him through the winding corridors of the castle. He led her to a grand gallery, its walls adorned with portraits of kings and queens who had ruled before him. The paintings told a story of his family’s legacy, of love and loss, each frame a snapshot of a life now gone.
Clara marveled at the sheer history of it all. For someone who had lost her own family and had no keepsakes to remember them by, the sight of such preserved memories was bittersweet. What a gift it would be to have something like this to look back on, to remember those who were gone.
At the far end of the gallery, Thalion stopped before two large portraits. The first depicted him in his prime—his crown gleaming, his features proud and regal. He looked so handsome it nearly took her beath away. Yet the artist had captured more than just a ruler; there was a light in his eyes, a warmth that hinted at something deeper. It was as if the Thalion in the painting knew his queen was by his side.
For she was.
Clara’s gaze moved to the second portrait, and her breath caught. The woman who stared back was the epitome of beauty and grace. Her delicate features radiated kindness and love, her eyes almost alive with a warmth that matched her husband’s. The artist had again captured more than just her likeness. Clara had heard from the villagers that the queen had been well-loved, remembered for her boundless kindness and generosity toward her subjects. That legacy was unmistakable in the painting before her.
“Oh, Thalion,” Clara whispered, her voice tight with the loss of a woman she’d never met. “She was beautiful.”
“She was…” His voice cracked, and he closed his eyes briefly. “And I killed her.”
The words hit Clara like a physical blow, and she felt like her heart stopped. Not in the poetic way sometimes described in books, but really and truly stopped for a few seconds purely from shock. When it beat again, she found the breath to gasp, if not to speak.
“That can’t be true,” she finally croaked out, her voice a hoarse whisper. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, as though weighed down by his grief.
“I assure you, it is.”
Clara shook her head, unable to reconcile the gentle man she had come to know with the image his words painted. “Tell me,” she said, stepping closer. “Tell me what happened.”
Thalion’s voice was steady, though his eyes revealed the storm raging within him. “It was a night like any other—or so I thought. The full moon was high, and the castle was quiet. My queen and I had just returned from a celebration in the village. We were laughing, talking, when…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.
“When what?” Clara urged gently.
“When it came,” he said, his voice low. “A wolf. Not an ordinary one. It was larger, fiercer—its eyes glowed with an unnatural light. It came out of nowhere, attacking us. I fought to protect her, but…” He hesitated, his hands curling into fists. “It bit me. And something inside me changed. I don’t remember much after that, only flashes—pain, rage, her screams…”
He looked away, his voice trembling. “When I woke, she was lifeless. My clothes shredded, my hands stained with blood. And she… she wasn’t breathing.”
Clara reached for his hand, her fingers curling around his. “You don’t remember the exact moment, do you?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I know what I saw.”
“Then I refuse to believe it.” Her voice was firm, her eyes blazing with determination. “Something happened that night, Thalion, and we must find out what it was. I’ll help you. Perhaps there are records from the staff or someone in the village who remembers that night. There must be clues to what actually happened.”
Thalion shook his head. “It’s dangerous, Clara. You shouldn’t stay here. I showed you this so that you’d realize why you must leave. I can’t trust myself around you and I…I…don’t know how I would survive if I did…it…again.”
“I’m not leaving,” she said, her voice steady.
His expression darkened, his voice rising in desperation. He had to make her see the truth. “You don’t get it. I’m a danger to you. My wolf—”
“Your wolf didn’t touch me,” Clara interrupted, her cheeks flushing as she remembered how close they had been that night, and the dawn that followed. “We were near each other when you turned. And you didn’t harm me.”
Thalion stared at her, his resolve wavering as he remembered that morning. There had been a moment of embarrassment, waking in the embrace (however innocent) of another woman after the loss of his wife. But he also remembered the calmness in his heart, the stillness he hadn’t felt in so long. It was something he hadn’t experienced since the awful morning he’d woken to find his wife’s blood on his hands. That day, his world had become a nightmare he couldn’t escape, his wolf a constant, snarling reminder of what he’d done. But with Clara, the storm seemed to ebb, just enough to let him breathe. She soothed something deep inside him, though he didn’t understand why—or how.
“That doesn’t mean it’s safe,” he whispered finally.
“I’m not afraid,” she said softly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was electric, the air thick with unspoken words. Thalion reached out as if to touch her, then pulled back, his hand trembling.
“I don’t deserve your trust,” he said quietly.
Clara stepped closer, her heart pounding. “Maybe you don’t,” she said with a small smile. “But you have it anyway.”
Thalion’s gaze lingered on Clara for a moment, as if searching for something he couldn’t quite name. Then, with a deep breath, he turned away from the paintings that had held his torment for so long.
“There’s something else you need to see,” he said, his voice low but steady.
Clara followed him again without hesitation, the echo of their footsteps blending with the creaking of the gallery’s polished wooden floorboards. The weight of the room’s silent witnesses seemed to follow them as they stepped back into the stone corridors, the chill of the castle seeping up through the flagstones beneath their feet.
They descended a narrow staircase and emerged into the great hall. The air seemed to grow heavier with every step, the distant flicker of torchlight casting restless shadows against the cold stone walls. At the far end of the hall stood a chest, its iron clasps etched with runes that pulsed faintly like a beating heart.
“This,” Thalion began, his voice low and burdened, “is the source of my torment.”
He knelt before the chest and placed his hands over the runes. The metallic surface shimmered as though alive, and faint whispers emanated from it, sending a shiver down Clara’s spine.
She expected him to pull out a key, but instead, he murmured words she didn’t recognize—low and melodic, each syllable thrumming through the air like a living thing. The runes glowed briefly, and the clasps sprang open with a metallic click.
She blinked in surprise. “You can use magic?”
Thalion glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I was a king. Magic was part of my duty, but it’s a skill I rarely use now.” He hesitated, his voice dropping to a grave tone. “It’s dangerous, Clara. Magic always comes with a cost, and it doesn’t care whether you’re ready to pay it. I didn’t expect you to know of it, let alone see me use it.”
She studied him, her thoughts racing. “I know of magic,” she said slowly, “but I didn’t know you still practiced it.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he lifted the chest’s lid, revealing a crown unlike any Clara had seen. Its surface shimmered with an unnatural sheen, and the faint hum of energy grew louder as she stepped closer.
Thalion’s fingers brushed the crown’s edge, but he didn’t lift it. “This crown was forged centuries ago to bind the King to his people and the land itself. It was meant to amplify my strength, my wisdom—but when I was bitten, it became a curse.” His voice cracked, and he closed his eyes as if bracing against the memory. “The magic twisted my grief into this…” He gestured to himself, his broad frame and the faint scars that spoke of the beast within.
“The werewolf bite,” she whispered in realization.
He nodded grimly. “The curse wasn’t immediate. The bite would have healed, but the crown… it amplified everything—my grief, my anger, my loss. When my queen died, the magic turned my emotions into something else, something monstrous.”
He finally lifted the crown, holding it as though it might lash out at any moment. Its surface seemed to ripple, faint whispers emanating from within. “I cast it aside after that night, locking it away. But its influence remains. The beast within me has never left.”
Clara stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the crown. “It’s alive,” she murmured. The faint hum it emitted seemed to grow louder as she neared, and her fingertips itched with the urge to touch it.
Thalion’s hand shot out, stopping her. “Never. The crown’s magic is not to be trifled with. It consumed me once. I will not let it take another.”
Clara’s gaze lingered on the crown, then on Thalion. For the first time, she truly saw the depth of his torment, and the strength it must have taken to endure it. Her chest tightened with an emotion she couldn’t yet name, but it was enough to make her stay.
He placed the crown back into the chest, locking the latches firmly before standing and turning to face her fully. His expression was weary, as though the weight of years pressed down on him. “I told you before that you needed to leave because of my wolf. That was only part of the truth.”
Clara’s brows knitted together. “Part of the truth?”
“You deserve to know everything,” Thalion said, his voice firm but pained. “The crown’s magic didn’t just curse me to become this. It amplified the darkness within me. My wolf is dangerous, yes, but the crown makes it worse. It feeds on my grief, my anger—every shadow in my soul. I showed you this so you’d understand why I can’t trust myself around you.”
Clara’s chest tightened, but she stepped closer, undeterred. “And yet, you haven’t hurt me. Not once.”
His jaw clenched, the vulnerability in his eyes breaking through the walls he had built. “Not yet. But the curse is unpredictable. The closer I feel to you, the more the beast inside me stirs. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control it if I lose myself again.”
Clara reached out, her hand brushing against his. “Then we’ll face it together. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
The weight of her words hung in the air, and Clara’s heart ached with a mix of fear and resolve. Whatever lay ahead, she wouldn’t let him fight it alone. Thalion, having revealed the truth of the night he’d lost his queen, led Clara quietly back to his study.
The hum of the crown still echoed faintly in Clara’s mind as she and Thalion sat by the hearth in a rare moment of stillness. Her thoughts, however, were anything but calm. She replayed the agony of the full moon—the way her body had ached as though something within her was clawing to break free.
“Your curse,” she began hesitantly, breaking the silence. “Do you think… could it be tied to me as well?”
Thalion looked at her sharply, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”
She twisted her hands in her lap, searching for the right words. “The pain I felt during the full moon… it wasn’t natural. And the way I…” She trailed off, heat rising to her cheeks. “The way I felt drawn to you. What if I’m cursed too? Or what if…” She hesitated, the words almost too terrifying to voice. “What if I’m like you?”
Thalion’s expression softened, but his silence was deafening. Finally, he spoke. “There is something within you, Clara. Something I cannot yet name. But cursed?” He shook his head. “No. If anything, you are a light in my darkness.”
Clara’s heart ached at his words, but they brought no clarity. The pain she’d felt, the strange pull she couldn’t ignore—it was as if her body and soul were awakening to a truth she wasn’t ready to face.
The firelight danced in Thalion’s eyes as he leaned forward, his voice a rough rasp. “I thought I had nothing left to feel, Clara. Nothing but grief and anger. And then you came.”
Clara’s breath caught, her fingers gripping the arm of the chair. She had never seen him so unguarded, his stoic mask slipping to reveal the man beneath. “You do… scare me,” she admitted, her voice trembling.
Thalion froze, his gaze widening slightly. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with the weight of her words. Fear, not of her, but of what she might be telling him, settled in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. The air between them thickened with unspoken understanding.
“Not because of what you are,” she reassured him quickly, noting the look in his eyes. “But because of what you make me feel.”
Thalion’s gaze locked onto hers, his intensity both disarming and magnetic. “And what do I make you feel?”
She hesitated, the words sticking in her throat. But there was no denying it—the pull between them, the way his presence seemed to fill the emptiness she’d carried for so long. “Like I’ve found something I wasn’t even looking for.”
A shadow of a smile crossed his lips, fleeting but genuine. “Fate has a cruel sense of humor, doesn’t it?”
Clara nodded, tears threatening to spill as the weight of their unspoken connection pressed upon them both.
The night deepened, and the castle seemed to breathe around them, its ancient walls whispering secrets neither dared to speak aloud. Thalion moved from his chair to stand by the window, gazing into the moonlit forest beyond. After several moments Clara rose and approached his back, her footsteps soft against the stone floor.
“Thalion,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions within her. “Whatever this is… whatever it means… I’m not afraid.”
He turned to her, his expression torn between hope and despair. “You should be. I can’t promise you safety, Clara. I can’t promise you anything.”
“Then promise me this,” she said, stepping closer. “Promise me you won’t push me away.”
The distance between them vanished as his hand reached out, hesitant at first, then his movements sure when he cupped her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I promise,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin in the scant space that separated their bodies.
For a moment, the world held its breath. Their lips hovered, mere inches apart, the tension thick enough to cut. But just as their eyes closed and the inevitability of the kiss loomed, Thalion pulled back, his jaw tight with restraint.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice raw. “Not until I can be the man you deserve.”
Clara’s heart ached with longing, but she nodded. “Then I’ll wait,” she said softly. “For as long as it takes.”
And as the night stretched on, they stood together in the quiet, unspoken understanding binding them tighter than any curse ever could.
To be continued…
Story written and illustrated by The Queen of Halloween 365
Copyright © 2025 The Queen of Halloween 365. All rights reserved.